Reporting for Duty
by sweetmisgivings
Summary: Officer Eustass Kid has been chasing a criminal known as the "Surgeon of Death." He follows a strong lead, but ends up handcuffed in a bar with the Surgeon himself straddling him for a fun tease.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey, it's been given to me that this story takes on some similarities to a story called, "East Blue Killer," by straycat13ct in Ao3. I just have to say that I have never read that story before until now. (I had to see for myself to compare stories). This story was purely sparked by reading too much Robin fanfics (as some of you may notice upon reading). I respect straycat13ct as an author, and apologize if this story hits too close to home, but hopefully, the progression of the story would prove that this story will head to a different direction.**

 **I took this story down at first thinking that I had to change some things since I didn't want to be accused of copying someone else's work, but reposted again in hopes that the story can hold as its own. This will be a multichapter fic, and the future chapters will provide some more meat and content of something else entirely.**

 **Thank you all for those that have taken the time to read this, and have a good day!**

* * *

It was 3 A.M. and Kid didn't know how things had turned out this way. He was pinned down on a table at an empty bar with his hands bound above his head to a wooden post. The metal was chaffing his wrists raw, but the most annoying thing about the situation was that he had been caught by his own handcuffs. He didn't even realize when they had been slipped out from his back pockets, but so far, that had been the pattern of the night. He was always a step behind. The criminal that he had been chasing for weeks now was always ahead of his every move. Looking back, the leads that he had thought were getting him closer to the truth had been just bait all along. The evidence he had uncovered weren't left behind by mistake; they were left on purpose for him to find. The car, the note – hell, all those people he had talked to. His _witnesses_.

Were they all lying to him?

The taste of copper touched his tongue as he gritted his teeth. His eyes hardened in contempt at the person straddling him, one leg kneeling between Kid's legs and the other at the side of his left thigh.

He couldn't see their face clearly due to the dim lighting of the place, but the sharp grey eyes were bright among the shadows. The intelligent gaze matched his anger with intense appraisal as they narrowed. The pressure that had been keeping Kid tense for the past few minutes grew when the gun pointed at his cock pressed harshly. The metal nudged between his legs coldly, and he hissed in a breath.

Fuck, if this were any other situation, it could have actually been sexy. Why did all the hot ones have to be homicidal psychos?

The man known as the "Death Surgeon" leaned in close to his ear, a hot puff of breath tickling his neck as he spoke. And damn if that didn't raise the hairs on him.

"I know you've been following me," the deep, sensual voice held no uncertainty about that fact. Kid didn't either. If Kid had been duped, as he had suspected he had, then there were probably an abundant amount of pictures and records of him tailing the man around.

The thought of him being so obviously played refueled his anger all over again making him scowl, and the reaction received an amused chuckle. The demented doctor eased up slightly above him.

"Well here I am, officer. Am I right where you want me? Because you're right where I want."

Kid squirmed in his uncomfortable position due to the pain in his back from where he had been stabbed, but it could also be from the gleam in the grey eyes. They weren't any less threatening, but there was a new hooded smokiness in them that sparked and bordered on snide teasing.

Yup, Kid mentally affirmed. If the man wasn't such a psycho, they could've had some real fun times with that playful mouth.

"You know, Doc," he started, his tongue darting out to catch the blood on his cut lip. "When you told me you'd be taking me back to your place for something fun, I wasn't expecting this. To be honest, the whole blindfolding and gagging me in the back of the car was a huge turn on, but it should've been a sign. Should've known you were gonna be like this. Then again, I already knew you were a bit of a sadist."

The man only hummed mirthfully.

"Oh, I'm sure you knew."

"Tying 'em up, laying 'em on a table," Kid was recounting the files he had reviewed back at the station.

The Death Surgeon's signature and MO very unique. All the bodies that had been found were all fully dressed as if they hadn't been touched, but underneath were all the markings of a full autopsy. The y-incision across their chests were expertly closed, the stitches clean and mechanical. Whoever had closed the bodies up clearly had practice, although their motive for killing was unknown. No one could piece together what the Surgeon wanted to achieve. All the bodies that the police were able to identify had matched with fingerprints or dental records of other criminals, but such vigilante actions didn't excuse him from the fact that he committed a crime. Multiple crimes.

The man was sick, twisted – the furthest from being a saint.

For God's sake, it had been concluded that the victims were alive during their autopsies. Based on forensics, there was evidence that sometimes, the good doctor didn't even bother to sedate his victims and kept them awake. The asshole probably got off on inflicting pain and seeing his victims struggle.

Kid wanted to catch the bastard so bad, but the Surgeon had always been careful. There were never any fingerprints on the bodies or foreign DNA samples that matched government records. Neither were there any blood stains, rips on the clothes, anything that would point to a certain location – nothing. The murders were always so clean. The man was untouchable and had no face until now.

Now, Kid was staring the homicidal psycho in the face, and he was – he was…

Kid's attention pulled downwards as a hand slipped onto his chest. He watched as the buttons on his shirt were being slowly undone, and how a thin, gloved hand was sliding against his skin right under his collarbones. His muscles tensed. At this point, Kid knew he was screwed. He was going to die. He had hoped that if was going to be killed in action, it would at least be in his uniform. Instead, he was wearing this sleazy suit that he put on in order to blend in with the grimy crowd that occupied this side of the city. All the good it seemed to help him though. He was supposed to follow the Death Surgeon to his hideout and catch him in the act while undercover tonight, but his disguise hadn't been needed from the start. The Doc knew of him already.

Kid could only try to keep still as the hand on his chest traveled downwards to his stomach, his body involuntarily sucking in a breath.

Thoughts of his impending torture and mutilation infiltrated his mind. Part of him was relieved that he had gone on this mission solo. He wouldn't have been able to forgive himself if he had dragged Killer with him so that not only would he have inadvertently killed his friend, his partner, two police officers would be dying tonight instead of one. At least, since it was just him, only one person would be suffering his mistake.

Kid closed his eyes when a tongue licked under his jaw, and a soft mouth started nipping at his ear.

"Yes," the man breathed. "I usually go for the straps and leather, but the handcuffs work well enough. Sadly, we have to forgo the operating table, but I can make exceptions. It's not every night that I get a police officer falling into my lap, now do I? One that's so attracted to danger that he'd take the trip all the way down to Crime Alley."

The wandering hand, the one that wasn't holding the gun, brushed along Kid's side. To say it wasn't distracting would be a lie. The fingers kept moving lower and lower while the man's lips sucked along the line of his jaw from where he had been slugged. A bruise was already forming near his chin, but would it be wrong to think that the man was kissing it better? Those lips were doing something right, and the man didn't waste any time or talent when the soft lips met Kid's own. A moist tongue licked his bottom lip taking extra care at the place where it was split before the Doc stuck his tongue down Kid's throat. A small moan escaped between them, but it was difficult to tell from whom it came from.

Kid started to feel dizzy. His mind skipped to wondering if he had been drugged. Shit. But when did that happen?

Between the fondling and rustling they did before he got tossed in the car, the man had many chances to stick a needle in him. Heck, with the Surgeon's unpredictability, the drug could have come through skin contact or something.

He furrowed his brows deciding not to dwell on how he got slipped something under his nose. Instead, he tried clearing his mind by focusing on the sensations coursing through his body as he tried to figure out how to escape. He guessed he could consider himself lucky if the surgeon intended to put him to sleep first before he did any slicing. Although, as courteous as that may be, he needed to cling on to the idea that he'd make it out of this alive. There were so many reasons for why he needed to live to the next day.

For one, if he was successful, he'd still be alive. Two, he could go after the Surgeon bastard again, but with back up and greater precaution than what he had taken in his first attempt.

For six years, the face of the Death Surgeon hadn't been known, but due to this, he's seen it. He has evidence now, and he would be able to recognize the man's face if they were to go after him again; he was sure of it. This maniac could finally be captured, and he had the means to put him behind bars.

Kid felt the man's hand pop open the bottom of his trousers and pull the zipper. He let out a warning growl when the hand cupped his cock and started kneading it. The Doc ignored his protest and instead distracted him by pulling his hair with the hand that held the gun. Rough fingers pulled harshly at his scalp forcing his head to bend back and expose the column of his neck. The surgeon was probably aware that he was holding the firearm too close to Kid's chained hands and kept it warily out of reach in case Kid tried anything.

Meanwhile, the Doc's other hand stopped playing and pulled down on Kid's pants and underwear as much as their positions allowed so he could have free reign to the hardness underneath. The cold air touched the hidden skin, but the man's warm hand quickly wrapped around his length.

Shamelessly, Kid let out a whimper. He couldn't control his voice, but he was conscious enough to hear his quiet moans and feel dirty. The blood in his veins was starting to get hot, and he was in this odd state of feeling hazy and euphoric. Maybe the hand touching him was just that good, or maybe he just liked the tongue sliding inside his mouth. The hand grabbing his hair bunched a patch of his redden locks and tugged. Kid's eyes rolled back.

He was feeling too much. Hands, mouth, hands – Kid's escape plan was moot as every single movement of the Death Surgeon took over his brain.

Like the cruel man he was, the Surgeon moved agonizingly slow. The pad of a thumb rubbed languid circles at the tip of his cock and exerted just the right amount of pressure to elicit pleasure.

Kid let out a guttural groan, his breathing getting deeper, as the hand continued its ministrations. The hand wasn't doing nearly enough, and he needed more. Kid's hips bucked upwards in need earning him an unsparing laugh.

The sound was harmonious and dark. It irked him how satisfied it came out, and Kid almost bit down on the man's tongue to stop it.

"Take off the fucking leather," he let out, his demand sounding too throaty and desperate for his sanity.

If the guy was going to give him a hand job, the least he could do was do it properly. The feel of the glove against his skin felt too thick, and he was burning to just feel some skin on skin contact. He was starting to see white from how aroused he was, but of course, the guy had to be a dick.

Kid growled again when the hand on his cock left. The man on top of him looked down at his prone and exposed state, a wide smile casted on his face. Kid was so hard and he was damned if the bastard wasn't going to do anything about it.

Making sure to grind on his thighs, the man slid off of the table and away from Kid. He stood next to the table straightening out the white suit he wore as Kid just stared hot and bothered.

"We should do this again sometime."

Once the words left the Doc's mouth, Kid felt indignant. Whose fault was it that they were in the positions they were in now? And was the man going to –

"But I have to leave."

The fucker! He was going to leave him like this?!

The sound of police cars sounded in the far distance, and heavy steps followed the distinctive slams of car doors. Kid's heart started beating loudly for a different reason than it did seconds ago as a realization suddenly hit him. He struggled on the table and pulled desperately on the handcuffs so he could strangle the man next to him, but to no avail. The Death Surgeon cast him a nonchalant glance before setting the gun on the floor and walking away.

"Your friends have come to ruin our fun. Such a disappointment, I know," the man stated airily. "But don't worry. We'll meet again, Officer Kid. I know everything about you – where you live, where you often for lunch, and even your friends' names and homes. You need not worry. We'll come again to each other soon."

"Hey!" Kid called out.

He floundered on the table and twisted so he could see the surgeon leave. The man had reached the door next to the bartender's table, and it seemed that he did pause to Kid's call. The drumming was at Kid's ears now, the beat loud, as he waited for the surgeon to face him again. He was half expecting the man to keep on walking and was mildly surprised when the Doc slowly twisted his head to the side.

The suave white suit clung the man's lithe frame as if suits were specifically made for the man to wear, and the sight didn't go unnoticed by Kid's wondering gaze. Grey eyes pierced at him, but they soon softened into something fond and amused.

"Unlike you, I take proper research about those that catch my eye. And you, Eustass, have caught my eye."

Those were the last words before the surgeon disappeared into the connecting hallway, probably making his escape. The entrance door to the bar then burst open, bright light infiltrating the dark room where the 3rd squad of the city's police force found a one Officer Eustass Kid handcuffed to a post with his pants down and half naked as if he'd been left unsatisfied, undignified, and barely violated.


	2. Chapter 2

The doors suddenly burst open; beams of light and figures of shadowed men and women stormed into the empty room. They rushed to the walls quickly overtaking the space and securing the area. Kid's eyes squinted as his pupils adjusted. His focus remained on the bulky mass of the man who stood in the middle of the door. Like the rest of the police officers, the man had on a bullet proof vest and was crouched in his stance as he held a gun in both hands. They locked eyes, the man not taking a step further until there was a loud call from one of the other officers.

"All clear!"

Like they were magic words, the man's shoulders slumped down and lowered his arms. The man took a deep breath, and it came back out sounding relieved and partly tired.

Someone turned on the actual lights, and Kid winced as the room took on a warm blue glow. The features of the man he had been staring at became clearer, and the long blonde hair falling over his partner's shoulders became discernable. Putting the gun back into its holster, Killer walked briskly over and pulled out a key to unlock the handcuffs. Kid ignored the bustling around him as a few others were assigned to search the premise.

He let out a small groan as his wrists were finally released. His bones creaked from being moved after so long while a sharp pain traveled from his hands and all the way down to his shoulders. A firm hand settled on his back to help him sit up.

"Fuck," Kid cursed, his body feeling stiff. It was hard coordinate his limbs when his hands were shaking, but he operated in sharp jerky movements to pull his pants back up. He growled in frustration when his fingers fumbled to push the pant button through the hole. After the third try, he threw his arms forward giving up.

"Kid," Killer's voice was gentle. Being together for so long, he recognized the softness that the blonde usually reserved for victims. _Victims._ "I need you to stay calm."

"I am calm," he growled.

How could Killer think that he wasn't handling his shit right now? One look at the blonde, and he knew that he wasn't really doing well in keeping it together. Shit. He must've looked like a mess right now too if Killer was using _that_ voice.

Killer had that face he used when he was thinking, and the gears behind that messy mop of straw colored hair was churning. It seemed like the man was trying to figure out the extent of the physical damage, but also trying to piece together the scene that they had burst in upon. He could just imagine what the blonde felt after finding his work partner dirty and beaten after being molested.

Kid mentally scoffed. Okay, he wasn't going to use that word. _Molested_. He wasn't a damn victim.

"You're shivering," was all Killer noted.

"Yeah? Didn't notice," Kid bit reflexively.

Immediately, he regretted it because his friend was only showing concern. Kid knew he looked pretty beaten. He could feel the broken bones in his left arm and hand, and he was bleeding in his lower back. There must've been a pool of his blood on the table from where he had lain, and it was pretty impressive that Killer was able to maintain a cool demeanor with all of this. Then again, the man had always been the silent and impassive type.

Fingers shifted to adjust the tail of his blazer. Kid just barely registered that Killer was putting pressure at his wound when all of a sudden, the haziness filling his brain hit him hard. He hunched over feeling nauseous. He caught his face in his hands, and he grimaced when the opening in his back stretched. He was starting to feel like he was floating. The pain was the only thing keeping him grounded as the sounds around him began to blur.

Killer called for paramedics and placed a hand on his shoulder for assurance to which Kid was overly conscious about. His senses, he was losing it all except for the heightened sense of touch. Every single point of contact was like a burst of stimulation. He let out a small strained noise knowing it was the drug's effects, but Killer misinterpreted it as pain. The fingers on Kid's shoulders squeezed.

Sinking his teeth against his bottom lip to refrain for lashing out, Kid only shut his eyes tighter to control the heat overtaking his body. The tension was building down south, but he refused to expose himself to his partner. He respected Killer, and for the man to see him like this – aroused, he just couldn't.

The paramedics finally came and attended to his immediate wounds. More hands kept touching him to which he tried to shut out. A barrage of questions came at him, but he didn't hear any of them. He didn't know when they stopped trying to get him to talk, but he was pulled into a stretcher and pushed into the back of an ambulance.

* * *

The report that he handed in was thrown on the desk with very little appreciation. Kid kept his back straight as he stood in in front of the commissioner's desk, his eyes narrowed. He followed the forms that he had filled out as they fell flat on the wooden surface. The man sitting behind the desk scowled at him in admonishment. The vein popping out at the grey haired man's temple was bulging out at its most impressive yet.

"I thought I told you not to take the lead," Smoker's voice was coarse.

"If I didn't, we wouldn't have found that the bar belonged to the Surgeon," Kid argued. "We wouldn't have ever – "

"You could have been killed!" Smoker interrupted him.

"Well, I didn't!" Kid yelled. He balled his fists as he glared at his boss, but leveled down when he saw the concern etched in the older man's face. "I knew what I was doing," he tried again. "I had been tailing the guy for weeks – "

"With no evidence to show," Smoker cut in.

"What?" Kid blinked taken aback. "What do you mean? You know I had solid evidence," he frowned. "I was scouting the building before I decided to go in. I took pictures, and I have several of him going in and out of the bar. I left them all in my apartment."

"When Zoro came into your apartment, it was ransacked. Not sure if anything else of yours was stolen, but the pictures weren't there," Smoker ran a hand through his hair. The strands were beginning to thin and fade into a white at the roots, and they were a stark contrast to the tanned fingers. "Look. I know you probably had taken the photos. I've seen some of them, but there was only one picture found in your apartment. It was taped up on the wall of your desk, and it was a picture of you."

The older man opened one of the drawers under his desk and ruffled through a couple of folders until he found what he was looking for. He slid a small, square object across his desk and Kid took it in his hands. His face paled slightly as he stared at a picture of himself sitting in his car. He looked to be writing something in a notebook, and he guessed that he was too captivated in what he was scribbling down to notice that someone had been watching him. From the angle, the person who took the picture had to be hiding from across the street. It was such a straight shot. How could he have not noticed?

"What about the pictures I gave you? The ones I left here in the evidence locker?"

"Gone." Smoker answered bitterly. "Someone took them. The Surgeon even has cops working for him, and I don't who they are. I don't even know which of my own men are sneaking right under my nose." There was a slam against the table.

Kid looked back up at Smoker, the man looking like the epitome of anger at the insubordination.

"Someone knew what you were doing and who you were after, kid."

He slid the picture back. "I know," he said. "Guy told me himself. Thing was a bust the whole time."

Smoker let out a tired, frustrated breath. He seemed to be holding something back and making a decision in his head. When he did, he looked a little more constipated than he usually did.

"What else did he tell you?" Smoker prodded.

"Nothing. Just that. I didn't get much time until everyone came."

There was a short pause to which Kid felt an odd stare being placed on him, and he cocked his head to the side at his boss. Smoker was giving him a look as if he was trying to nick him apart to hide what he was hiding, but as far as he was concerned, he wasn't keeping any secrets. Everything he'd said had been the truth.

Smoker remained silent, his lips fitted into a tight line. He leaned over his desk just a little closer, and it was one of those rare moments where the man bared himself to show some deep concern. Pale colored eyes held him still, and it sort made Kid want to step back.

"Look, kid," the man's voice quieted down a notch. He seemed to stiffen up as well, but he tried his best to look open. "You and I have discussed the Surgeon's cases. I was there when we tried to map out the man's psyche when he started getting really big. I don't need to tell you that you're the first one who's lived after a run in with the doctor. I need to know."

Kid swallowed, his mouth getting dry.

"I need to know if something happened," Smoker continued. He hesitated a bit picking up on the subtleties of Kid's reaction, but forced himself to go on.

Sexual crimes weren't the type of cases they picked. It happened on occasion as some criminals added rape to their list offenses, but it was a lot more personal when it happened to someone in the department. As an officer under his charge, Smoker knew he needed to address the issue. It was his responsibility. This could affect Kid's work, his life, and his mental state. He was reticent to admit it, but he was also fond of the brat and didn't want the guy to be traumatized by what had happened. And what had happened – it was a lot.

Kid, his eyes widening, seemed to catch on to what he was referring to.

"Nothing else happened." The defensive insistence was more of a confirmation that something did.

"When they found you, you were shaking," Smoker countered sternly. "Medical reports came back. They found traces of Haldol and an aphrodisiac. It's the same drug being used for the human trafficking going down in Loguetown. That's the first for the Surgeon."

Kid shrugged. "Maybe we just haven't found enough bodies. Who knows what the guy does? Maybe he's involved in the trafficking, too"

"That's not what I'm getting at."

"Then what _are_ you getting at?"

"God damn it, Kid. Do you need me to say it?" Smoker grounded out through his teeth. He was trying to be patient, but he couldn't play the passive role. "You were caught with your pants down! You were bound on the table, and I'm sure you don't need a detailed description of what your partner saw! And speaking of Killer, why wasn't he with you? If you were going to go in, you should've at least had him watching your back!

And I talked to Lyov! He said he didn't know that you were going undercover that night. If you can't trust anyone, you trust your partner! You know how it goes around here! We trained you to work together. At _all_ times. Do you want me to change who you're paired up with? If there's something I need to know, tell me. Otherwise, what the hell were you trying to prove by going at it alone?!"

The flush had traveled from the man's face and all the way down to his throat. He glared at the redhead expecting an answer, but Kid kept his lips pressed together. Both of their shoulders were rising from anger, Kid barely restraining his own from exploding out at his superior. Kid was starting to see red, but from all the anger management classes that he had been forced into, he coerced himself into taking deep breaths. He wiped his mind blank to stay away from any thought that would set him off and stared at the sling carrying his left arm.

"Killer was following a different lead," he managed to say when he regained some control. "He was in a different part of the city, and he was busy. I decided that what I found couldn't wait so I went in. _By myself._ I wouldn't have gone in if I thought that I couldn't handle it."

He stopped for a second to take another breath.

Kid knew that he had messed up. He understood why his boss was yelling at him because things had turned out really bad, but he was angry about it too. More than anyone, he was the most upset because he had been careless, and it was his mistake that he alone had to swallow.

Kid let it slide when he heard Smoker slip in a, "Well, you obviously didn't."

"I saw his face," he said in an attempt to bring out the good that came out of all of this. "I know how the Surgeon looks like. We may not have pictures anymore, but I can pick him out of the crowd or in a line-up."

The older man made a noise of something akin to acknowledgement, but he didn't detract from what they were discussing. "You didn't answer my other question."

"I know how the Surgeon looks like," Kid enunciated trying to get his boss to understand the importance of such information.

Smoker remained stony faced.

The man hovered his hand over the stack of papers at the corner of his desk and took out a notepad. He then reached for a black pen in his pencil cup and scribbled something down.

"I'm scheduling you for an appointment with Nico."

Kid's eyes bulged out incredulously. "You're making me talk to a psychiatrist?!"

"You need to talk to someone."

"I'm fine!" He insisted.

"If you are, then Dr. Nico will support you on that." The black pen was returned to the pencil cup signaling that the decision was final. "While you're waiting, you can talk to the sketch artist to tell him how the doctor looks like. You're dismissed."

* * *

It had been a week since his boss had talked to him. Well, screamed at him and barked around orders. The old man was a good cop, but hell if he didn't disagree with him on what Kid needed.

There was a pitiful squeak as he slammed the gangly body of the café's barista against the brick wall. They had ambushed the man at the back of the restaurant when he had been throwing the thrash, and now, the white bags that he was carrying were littered on the dirty ground. The man's eyes jumped from side to side as he squirmed under Kid's bulky arm pressed against his throat. Bony hands clawed at his forearm trying to get the redhead to loosen his grip, but there was a slim chance of that happening.

"You fucking lied to me," Kid spat with vehemence as he brought his face closer.

He revealed his fangs as he fisted the collar of the barista's white button shirt. All the while, Killer was a few paces away watching the interrogation as he stood idly with his arms crossed.

"Hey, man," the worker cast a pleading glance at the blonde, but it was obvious he wasn't going to help. He focused his eyes back on Kid. The image of an angry bull came into mind. "I swear I didn't. He was there, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, but how the hell did he know that I was following him?!" Kid shouted.

"I don't fucking know! I told you that I just play music there at the bar! I don't do anything else! Not like it's a surprise the guy knew what you were doing anyway. Probably got connections all over the place."

Kid gave the man a contemplative look before shoving him roughly and letting him go. The green haired man coughed as he held a hand against the wall for support.

"Shit," he threw Kid a hateful glare. "If you keep talking to me, they're gonna find out I said something to the cops. I told you everything I know, and thanks you, I lost my second gig. Now, I only have my damn café job. They closed down the Crow two days ago, you know that? Piss face. What the hell did you guys do? I'm up to my neck in debt, and you guys take away the job that lets me keep my apartment. Can't you just leave me alone?"

"No. Not until I catch the bastard."

Kid turned on his heel deeming them done. The barista muttered something angrily behind them as he lit up a cigarette. The familiar shape of the stick fit between his lips as he inhaled grey smoke. It didn't matter that it was his fifth one and it wasn't even noon. He had been really hoping that it was the barista kid that squealed because the man was his last option. This past week, he'd been burning through all of his supposed witnesses, and everyone else that he had talked to throughout the investigation, but they were all clean. There wasn't enough evidence to incriminate any of them, and it was getting to his nerves.

Kid was at his wit's end.

Why couldn't it be Bartolomeo?

Out of all of his connections, the café barista, a.k.a. Bartolomeo Corrida, was the one who had the closest contact to the surgeon himself. If it wasn't going to be the others, it had to be him. He had been hired as entertainment for the bar that Kid had been taken to called the "Crow." Bartolomeo, despite the rebellious look he sported with his nose ring and tattoos, was a well-known classical musician. He was an upcoming rookie in the city, and after collecting and hearing the kid's background story, he was also a typical small town brat looking for bigger fame in the city.

From what he had been told, Bartolomeo was playing the cello at an upscale hotel in the posh district when he had been recruited by a strange man in a suit. The man had approached him and complimented his hands. From Bartolomeo's retelling of the story, the man had told him that he had seen the musician at multiple venues before and asked him to work as a pianist at the Crow. There was no business card given. Bartolomeo was given the chance to go with the strange man immediately after the show to go to the Crow, or to decline if he didn't.

Of course, Bartolomeo went along. It was money, and the man was poor.

Kid had the green haired punk against an alley wall back then too when the brat was spilling secrets to him. The first time they met, Kid had been scouting the Surgeon's bar and saw Bartolomeo walk out. He had seen the musician enter and leave multiple times before, but had never really had a reason to confront him. When he decided to follow Bartolomeo to an alley three blocks down from the bar one night, he found the man buying crack from some shady dealer. Kid jumped in right away. He wasn't going to let an opportunity pass even if the drug dealers did manage to escape. What he wanted was the musician.

He had to give it the punk for putting up a decent fight, but the brat freaked out when he dropped his wallet. It was as if his life depended on Kid not seeing what was inside. It was odd, but he was able to make a deal. For not busting the musician for possession of illegal drugs and letting him keep his privacy, the brat would tell him everything he knew about the Crow.

What he knew wasn't much. The guy was just entertainment after all. He did, however, point out that he was always on the stage for the nights that he worked and had a good seat for seeing every person that entered the bar. He told him of one particular person whom stood out from the rest. He came in alone, a pattern that kept with the proceeding times Bartolomeo saw him. The person who had recruited Bartolomeo immediately attended to the stranger and sat him down in one of the booths. It was the closest one to the stage so they were right in front of the musician as he played. Because of the distance, the musician was able to get a good look at the man despite the poor lighting. The stranger was tall, slim, looked to be mid-twenties, had facial hair on his chin that thinned out along his jaw, and had short black hair. Every time the man came in, he wore a suit.

The guy looked to be tired, his eyes dark with exhaustion, but almost every single person that came into the bar looked like that. Most people came to places like the Crow to unwind, so Bartolomeo made no note of it and ignored the man as he continued playing. The conversation was lost to him as he actively decided not to eavesdrop. Apparently, that was the correct thing to do.

When the night had finished, the man who had recruited the musician came up to him once more before he left. He complimented Bartolomeo for keeping to himself, and told him happily that the man that he had been talking to liked him a lot. A few compliments were thrown around, but Bartolomeo got the message that if he hadn't played well tonight, the offer given to him before would have been revoked. In conclusion, the man with the facial hair had a great deal of influence on what went on in the place.

As Kid's investigation continued, he had pieced the puzzle that the man Bartolomeo had talked about was the Death Surgeon himself. Hell, that was one lucky break. Kid kept Bartolomeo under his leash after that, and forced him to listen in to conversations and report anything suspicious. Without the musician, he wouldn't have gotten as far in his case as he did.

Damn, the punk was his most useful asset. In all honesty, he was relieved it wasn't the musician that ratted him out, but who else could it have been? There was no one else. In addition to the way things are now, Kid had nothing. Even if he had a face engraved in his mind, he had no more leads. He had no name. His case was turning cold.

Kid stomped his way back to the streets with Killer following him. Their battered civic was parked a few blocks away and it was a quiet walk there.

Once they reached the car, Kid pulled the bag they placed over the meter and stuffed it in the bottom compartment by the driver's seat. He slammed the car door as soon as soon as he settled in the car and waited patiently for Killer to get in at the other side. His right hand settled on the wheel while the other hung outside the window with his cigarette.

The shotgun seat's door opened as the blonde came in and sat down.

Kid took another drag trying to smoke all his frustration away.

"Want to talk about it?"

He blew the smoke from his lungs towards the window before raising a brow to his side.

"About what?"

Killer was staring at him expectantly, like he had been doing all day, and pointed at the cig he was holding between his fingers.

"That. I thought you wanted to quit."

"Well, the day's been giving me crap so," Kid didn't finish his sentence in favor of sucking in another load.

The tip of the stick lit red for a moment before shrinking and turning grey. Killer drew down his window to allow some of the poisonous clouds to float away. For a minute, the blonde didn't say anything. They just sat there waiting for Kid to finish his cigarette, but the silence was normal. Neither of them were the chatty types, and Kid didn't feel like saying anything either.

After a moment, it was Killer that broke the quiet.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked again.

Kid exaggerated a sigh.

"You already asked me that."

There was a small pause, but that miniscule missed beat was enough to make the conversation uncomfortable. Kid shifted in his seat from what the blonde said next. When did being next to Killer turn so awkward?

"Heard you were supposed to talk to Dr. Nico about the incident. Someone came up to me this morning saying that they were looking for you because you were scheduled last week, but you never showed."

"I wasn't raped." Kid flicked what was left of his stick onto the street. "Only rape victims go to psych. I wasn't."

"Police officers who go through _trauma_ go to see Dr. Nico," Killer corrected.

"I'm not one of those either."

"You know Smoker's not going to get off your back until you see her."

"I'm not going to see her." Kid shoved the keys to start the car, and the car hummed in its old age.

The civic was in its seventh year, but she'd been good so far. He'd have to look under her hood though. It's been a while since he had. Kid swung a hand at the back of Killer's seat as he turned around to look at the rear as he reversed the car.

"Why are we even talking about this?" he asked as they got on the road.

Killer hastily put on his seatbelt. "Because you haven't said a single word about the incident. I read your report."

"Then you know what went on," Kid retorted. "Look, nothing happened. What you saw was how far it got, nothing more. If there was, you know I'd tell you."

"I know you omitted details in your report," Killer stated bluntly.

"Jesus, fuck," he tightened his grip on the wheel. "Didn't think you'd let the old man put you up to questioning me. What the hell?"

"Just worried about you."

"No," Kid rebuffed, but stopped what he was going to say. "Yeah. I get that," he said instead. "But it's not like I'm a defenseless virgin. Not like I'm new to things going bad while going under cover either. You need to stop hovering over me like I'm still a damn probie. I'm your partner. If your feeling guilty over what happened, you can shove it. It was my fault."

Kid stopped talking when he noticed Killer tense up.

The man was focused on the streets ahead of them, and Kid felt like kicking himself. He had implied that the blonde had reason to feel responsible at all when really, it was his own rashness that had gotten him caught in the first place. He knew that Killer had always seen him as family as they grew up together, and when they were younger, the man took care of him by always letting Kid stay at his apartment. They basically lived together until Kid felt like he was intruding in the older man's personal space and that it was long overdue for him to get a place of his own.

Although they worked together now and Kid had proved himself by graduating from the academy, it was still evident that Killer still viewed him as his little brother – that reckless teenager that always got himself into trouble and needed his guidance. It wasn't that there wasn't trust between them. No, the blonde had relied on Kid in multiple occasions and busts to watch his back from flying bullets and ambushing perpetrators, but Killer cared more for him than a normal person would for a coworker.

Not to mention, Killer had seen him at his lowest in the past.

Deciding that he shouldn't say more, Kid focused on driving. The ride back to the police station was brief, but the rest of the day was spent with them conversing sparingly. Everyone else in the office could see that there was a rift between them and avoided mentioning it as they knew tension was always high because of their line of work. Sometimes, you just don't ask, but it was annoying how people kept flicking their eyes at him; the unspoken sentiment in their gazes was unwarranted.

For some reason, every one of his coworkers had the same reaction – that he had been traumatized by what had happened. And hell, it wasn't like no one knew about the incident. The people that saved him in the bar consisted of almost every single person in his station. If that didn't make things uncomfortable.

When the time finally came for him to clock out, Kid gathered his things and didn't waste any time leaving. He got into his car and went straight home to avoid the pitiful looks thrown his way.

It took twenty minutes to get to his apartment situated downtown. He lived in one of the newer buildings, but still in the crappier area where people who had a choice wouldn't want to live. The place had been renovated a year ago and got a new paint job and better plumbing. The light tan of the building, along with the green of the roof tiles and railings, molded in with the urban construct of the city. But despite its brighter image, the streets around it housed many homeless people wandering about and the never disappearing trash on the floor overpowered the effect. No matter what people did, downtown would always look gloomy.

And as would life.

Kid parked his civic in the parking lot and rubbed his face tiredly.

Today was just a frustrating day, and he would kill to just relax in front of his couch with an ice cold beer. He slammed his car door shut as he got out and trudged up the four flights of stairs because a couple was fighting in front of the elevator. It wasn't anything violent or he would have stopped it. The argument went on about the boyfriend showing up late, or something of the like, so he just gave them a wary glance and left. The blue uniform sent the fighting couple to hush their bickering. The boyfriend blew the girl off and walked out of the apartment, thus temporarily ending the potential threat.

If only the sight of his badge and government issued attire sent all the criminals running scared; it would make his job a hell of a lot easier. The real difficult ones get excited at the thought of facing against the police though, and they're also often the ones that are morally incapable of stopping what they were doing.

Kid paused to open the door when he reached the room number 407. Too lazy to bother with the lights, he entered without flicking them on and locked the door with motions that he had done many times before. Eagerly, he shed his black jacket and tossed it in the direction of his couch to get rid of the day's events. It was like his shoulders felt immensely lighter, and his body started to ease.

He continued to undress, every single object he removed was like another ten-ton weight discarded. His keys, his gun, his badge, his wallet – all the things that identified him was placed on the cabinet that he passed in the living room as he walked to the kitchen. Once in, his hand wrapped around the handle of his fridge to open the door and pick out a bottle of Heineken. The cool glass settled against his calloused skin, the weight, a familiar comfort.

Kid let the fridge door close itself as he turned around and, using the well-worn edge of his counter, popped the bottle cap open. The rim of the bottle immediately met his lips. As the alcohol slid down his throat, the shedding of his day job was almost complete. The persona of a Marineford cop was stripped and tucked away for tomorrow when the shit cycle known as life began all over again. With all his responsibilities on temporary hold, he was just now a regular Joe - another face that constituted the masses. He was just another twenty-one-year-old man who lived alone his apartment trying to relax and appreciate a good two hours of mindless staring at the T.V.

Momentarily parting with his beer, Kid shrugged off his dark blue uniform shirt to hang over a kitchen chair before he padded back to the living room.

The whole place was dark, the quiet an ever present sign that he was alone, and he liked it. The curtains were drawn over the windows preventing even the city glow from penetrating inside his apartment making it hard to see, but rarely having any visitors, Kid knew where everything was. The remote was in front of the television, the television was at the East wall, and his ass, not yet placed where it needed to be, was designated to sink into the middle cushion of his black couch situated at exact center of his living room.

Kid walked up to his television stand to swipe the remote when the lamp beside the couch suddenly turned on. He jumped, surprised, and whirled around. His bottle of beer had already left his hand as he threw it across the room in the direction of the lamp. The bottle missed its target and crashed against the wall, the contents exploding and spilling to the carpet as the glass shattered.

With his training, Kid would have dived into further action to apprehend whoever had broken into his apartment, but the sight he was met with stopped him in his tracks. He would recognize that face anywhere. If it weren't so comical, he would have fallen on his ass laughing, but he was too tired to do so.

There, sprawled across his couch, was the Death Surgeon himself.

The man, being his uptight self, was dressed in another suit. It was as if he had no attire other than the expensive dress shirts and slacks. Instead of the white scheme the man wore in their first meeting, the Surgeon was sporting a dark grey jacket and pants. Underneath the blazer was a black collared shirt with the first three buttons undone. Matching black socks could be seen where the man's pants rode up slightly since his long legs were lifted so that his shiny black shoes could lay on the armrest.

The Surgeon's elbow rested on the opposite end of the couch near the lamp where it supported the man's face. A forefinger pressed against a temple while a thumb was fitted under a sharp jaw. A bored expression filled the man's face. The image could have been intimidating with the way Kid's lamp was casting shadows on the man's figure, grey eyes looking more feral in the weak yellow light, but the blatant annoyance on the Surgeon's face ruined it.

Kid's eyes went from the accusing frown on the man's lips to the blanket strewn across the man's chest. It took him a second to realize that it wasn't a blanket, but his jacket.

The corner of Kid's lip twitched until he started barking in laughter at the fact that he must've thrown the jacket over the man when he came in. His boisterous reaction didn't fare well with the doctor.

"You have unflattering habits," the Surgeon drawled as he daintily removed the jacket off of him and draped it over the back of the couch. "It must be why your apartment is a mess."

"Hey, I didn't tell you to break in," Kid kept the quirk to his lips even though he was annoyed that hadn't seen the signs that someone else was in his home. "If you told me you were coming, then I would've cleaned up a bit. Put the dirty laundry away or something."

The man gave him an appraising look.

"I doubt it."

"Yeah? I guess you would. You seem to know a lot about me," Kid accused, his laughter leaving him slowly. "You know my habits and everything. Got my own little stalker," he mused vindictively.

The parting words the Surgeon gave him bubbled from his memory. _Unlike you, I take proper research about those that catch my eye._ It was as disturbing as it sounded - up to every single syllable. The thought was quickly making him sour. Obviously, the man hadn't lied. The surgeon had found out where he lived and broke in, and for who knows how long the man had been waiting for him? He could have had ample time to snoop around through Kid's personal belongings without care. He could have stolen Kid's identity by now with his social security number, his check books, and passport that he had hidden in a small metal safe in his closet. Although all that sensitive information was guarded by a lock, he wouldn't put it past the doctor to be able to crack the access code and get what he wanted.

For a few seconds, the two of them stared at each other trying to gauge what to do. Kid, on his part, wondered what the man wanted. Maybe he was finishing the job from the other night and came to kill him. Raking his eyes over the slim body, Kid knew that he could take the man in a fist fight. Despite his useless left arm, he was still a pretty able fighter. Brute force was his specialty. The surgeon must have known that too, but Kid couldn't make out any bulges of any hidden weapons that could give the man the upper hand.

Then again, maybe the doctor had a hidden syringe to drug him up again.

No, that would be tasteless. The Death Surgeon didn't perform the same trick twice. Based on the cases Kid flipped through from tireless nights, the doctor liked to make each of his cases unique. There was always a slight variation to how the victims died. Be it from the slight change in the drug the man used to different incisions made on the body, the Surgeon was not a one trick man.

The pair of grey eyes blinked, and Kid balled a fist at his sides. Just a few seconds of looking at those icy greys was intensely unnerving, and it reminded Kid that he was dealing with a psychotic killer. The thought made him think about the case files again. If Kid really was his first cop that the Surgeon assaulted, maybe the doctor was preparing for something big and entirely different than his other murders. While the Death Surgeon's style was subtle and quiet, maybe the man would go for flashy and loud to attract attention for when the news of his death would fill every space of the press.

Why else would he attack a government dog? Only to make a statement, of course. Maybe he wanted to tell the police to fuck off.

He could just imagine the headline. _Mass murderer, Surgeon of Death, kills cop at his own home._ He pictured his dismembered body printed on the first page of the newspaper, the image in black and white, as blood pooled on his carpet.

Wow, he really needed to stop visualizing his death. It's almost gotten to that morbid level that it was even creeping himself out.

Kid tilted his head wondering if there were bombs planted in his apartment that would cause his limbs to fly off. The direction of thought wasn't much better, but at least it wasn't his lifeless body stuck in his head. He must have given an odd face while thinking because the Surgeon commented on it.

"Thinking of how you're gonna try to kill me," he answered honestly. "Gonna try to blow up the whole place, Doc?"

It was the man's turn to laugh. The doctor gave a low, wry chuckle. It was different from the one he heard at the bar. Instead of the wholly mischievous undertone that sent shivers down his spine, this one was slightly resigned. Kid then noticed the tired bags hugging the Surgeon's eyes that flashed in big bold darkness that the man had been working long, straight hours. Well, whatever the man did for work. Kid didn't know what the man did in his spare time other than indulge in his homicidal tendencies.

"If I did, why would I tell you?" the man asked. Kid thought he had a good point, but the man mulled it over a bit and decided to change his mind about giving an honest reply. "But no, I didn't," he amended. "If you were keeping up with the bodies that I've left for you, then you would know that isn't how I do things. Explosions. Really," he scoffed at the mere idea. "That would cause too much unnecessary damage."

"So how are you gonna go about it then?"

The man tilted his head, a snide smile pulling at the side of his face. The dim lighting of the apartment brought enough similarities of the other night, especially when the doctor moved smoothly on the couch to face him. Long legs swung in the air until the black leather shoes met the floor, and soon, the doctor was standing.

"Is death the only thing you think about?" he purred as he smoothed out the wrinkles on his suit.

"Says the guy who calls himself the Surgeon of Death."

"That is what the press calls me. I had no part in the decision."

"Fits," Kid tensed as the man got closer.

There was that damn twinkling in the man's eyes that spelled trouble. He was oddly enticed by it and apprehensive about what it meant.

"Oh, if they only knew about my wide range of skills, I would be called under a different name," he said suggestively.

"I'd call you 'psycho.'"

"Sad, but the name's already taken."

Kid would have asked by whom, but the distance between them was shrinking too rapidly for his liking.

"What are you here for?" he blurted out instead.

That made the man stop. And was that a pout? Bad guys don't do that, right? He was imagining things. Kid put it to the play of light, and convinced himself that it was a scowl.

"Honestly, Eustass." His name rolled out of the honey sickled tongue as if the Surgeon had been saying his name for years. "I'm here for unfinished business. I do hate to leave things open ended like we did. I am a business man, if anything at all."

The Surgeon stepped closer, his feet brushing against the dark brown of the carpet, and Kid's eyes flitted to his gun sitting on the cabinet by the door. His brain weighed the worth of even trying to get it. The Surgeon noticed his shift in attention and quickly figured out his intent.

"I wouldn't if I were you," he warned.

Kid didn't need a moment to think after that. He was a sucker for a challenge. He jumped and rushed his mass against the doctor. His arm wrapped around the man's shoulder as they hit the floor. He then quickly let go and hastily got back up to run to the cabinet. As he swiped his gun, his hand knocked his keys and a few other object to the ground, but he ignored it and whirled around to point his weapon at the doctor.

Kid was caught in a surprise when he was met with a black blur and a sharp hit to the gut that made him keel over. A heavy palm grabbed the back of his head and slammed it against a knee. A trickle of blood flowed from his nose as pain throbbed inside his skull.

Grunting, Kid took the close proximity as an opportunity and grabbed the man's lifted leg to throw the Surgeon off balance. His head fit between the man's thigh and stomach, and he pushed the two of them to the floor with his shoulder once more. Hands clawed at his back, but Kid had more control as he pressed the doctor against the carpet. They struggled for a few moments until he was able to properly trap the man between his legs as he stood on his knees. Kid pulled back slightly to get in a wide hit, but the doctor was faster and shoved the heel of his palm right under his jaw.

Kid's mouth snapped loudly, his teeth clacking against each other. The second hand followed with a straight hand slicing at his Adam's apple. The air was quickly caught from him, and although it was for just a few seconds, it was enough time for the doctor to roll him off and switch their positions.

Kid blindly swung the butt of his gun to hit the Surgeon, but missed. His back hit the floor, and at first, he was confident that he could still easily turn the tables even with the slight slip of allowing the doctor to get in a good hit. He knew he could throw the man's weight with no problem, but criminals weren't ones to play without a little trump card hidden away somewhere.

Under the man's sleeve, the doctor pulled out a narrow blade and stabbed his right hand centimeters below the knuckles. Kid let out a scream as the knife penetrated through his skin and between the bones that connected to his fore and middle fingers. Through the increasing pain, Kid forced himself to keep his grip on his gun, but dexterous fingers of the Surgeon's second hand clawed at his forearm to pinch the nerves controlling his muscles. His hand twitched with a violent spasm as the weapon dropped from his hold.

Not soon after, the knife cutting through his flesh moved upwards slicing the wound open and Kid followed the swipe in motion to keep from splitting his hand in half. His arm swung upward where it was pinned above his head, the blade digging into the wood beneath the carpet.

"I only like to play with pre-approved toys," the man panted right above him. "You're not at the level yet that you can start bringing in your own preferred play things."

The doctor's breathing had gotten heavier and he was staring down at Kid with mussed hair. There was a smudge of blood at the corner of the man's lips from where Kid had managed to elbow him from before. Other than that, the doctor had been pretty good at dodging any real blows.

"Fuck you," Kid growled.

"Maybe next time," the man said lazily.

 _As if_ Kid would allow a next time. He was going to arrest the bastard here and now. He just had to get out of this first.

Kid shifted under the man's body to throw him off, but the Surgeon grabbed the hilt of the knife and twisted it into the injured palm. Tortured nerves screamed at Kid to immediately stop moving.

"I'm not here to kill you," the Surgeon offered. He paused to study the twisted expression on his face as Kid clamped his eyelids shut. "And I don't want to hurt you either," he relented. There was another pause. "Unless you want me to," the appeasement sounded awfully hopeful. Kid still had his eyes closed so he couldn't see, but he could just bet that the grey eyes would be gleaming.

The sadistic bastard.

"I like to get a firm affirmation first."

"If you think this is fucking consent – " Kid squirmed under the doctor, his hips just under the man's ass.

The doctor smiled, a smug hum vibrating through his throat as he leaned down to place a soft press of lips at the corner of Kid's mouth. Kid thinned his own to deny the touch, but the man was relentless and nipped teasingly under his jaw. A wet tongue licked at his skin before sucking at where his pulse began to race. Kid bent his head to one side to squeeze the doctor's head out of the space between his shoulder and neck, but the man simply trailed his kisses down Kid's throat and down to his chest.

Warm breaths brushed against the hollow of where his collarbones met, the doctor's nose occasionally tickling the spot where bright red marks were being carefully placed against his pale skin. Undoubtedly, they would bruise by tomorrow.

A firm hand latched onto Kid's damaged shoulder resurging the pain from when it had been dislocated. The steady hand stiffened to keep him from fidgeting and pressed harder as the doctor's weight shifted forward. The man slid back making sure to grind against Kid's pants as he nibbled.

Something twisted was seriously going on because Kid found his breathing turning shallow at the doctor letting out a particularly hot breath near his stomach. He drew his head back, his eyes still closed but less tense. The doctor's forehead was laying on top of his sternum and seemed to be burying into his shirt until the man started to move again. He could feel the length of the man's nose press against his undershirt, lips giving languid kisses through the cotton.

Confused, Kid peeked one eye open and looked down to see the Surgeon staring right back at him. Hooded grey eyes were focused so intently at him that he almost overlooked the position of the doctor's hands resting against his rising chest. Confident that the knife would keep Kid's arm pinned above his head, the man had let go in favor of drawing slow circles with his thumb around Kid's nipple. The hand on his injured shoulder though stayed, the unrelieved pressure kept to drive him at the uncomfortable border of being unable to forget the battered state of his body.

"Don't move," the man ordered quietly. It was almost too soft for him to hear, but it held enough authority that it compelled Kid to actually listen.

He did nothing. He just watched with a daze as the doctor slid lower against his legs. The hand on his shoulder let go, albeit hesitantly, as they traced Kid's sides before slipping under his shirt. Of course, what he felt was the rubbery texture of leather from the man's gloves, and like the first time, Kid hated the damn things. He wanted bare skin against bare skin, the doctor's heat against his own, but the most he could do at the moment was imagine how it would be like. The pads of the doctor's fingers feeling his body without that protective layer, his body feeling the doctor – it was just a thought, but it was an idea that turned him on.

The doctor's palms roamed against his stomach and explored around his ribs as they pushed his clothing upwards. The doctor dove slowly at the exposed skin, his tongue tasting the bumps of muscle unhurriedly. Kid involuntarily sucked in a breath when the pink flesh dipped into his belly button.

A smile curled the Surgeon's lips, the expression almost genuine, until the man realized he was staring at Kid with a too happy look. The smile quickly bent into a neutral line. A protest was reeled back before Kid let out something he didn't want to say, and he swallowed. He chose to remain quiet as he watched the man appreciate the light red happy trail above his uniform pants.

Agonizingly sensuous hands messed with the belt, but never really went any lower. Kid bucked his hips upwards with impatience, but that only caused him to receive a reprimanding glare. Harsh fingers dug into his hips in warning, and he grunted with thinning restraint.

"I told you not to move," the Surgeon's voice was strict, but it was thick and Kid knew that he wasn't going to stop.

The long fingers stopped playing around and got to unbuckling the black belt and unzipping Kid's growing cock from its restraint. A noticeable bulge came from the black boxers and poked through the open halves of the zipper. Leaning down, the doctor's lips pressed against Kid's erection.

"I'd like this in my mouth," the doctor fixed on Kid's eyes again, and he had the urge to shove his cock against the man's face.

The hands at Kid's hips kept him from doing just that so he settled with hissing out a, "Fuck."

The Surgeon came down again, but stopped just a centimeter's length away from actually touching his aching need.

"I need a 'yes' or 'no,' Eustass."

It was frustrating having that mouth so close. The answer was obviously _yes_. Yes, yes, a thousand fucks, _yes_. But at the same time, he knew that he shouldn't give in. The man was a criminal. No matter how tempting the offer may be, he _couldn't._

The Surgeon rested his chin at the top of Kid's left thigh and tilted his head expectantly. The gesture was so sure and complacent as if it was just time that was keeping Kid from allowing consent. It connected in Kid's mind that the monosyllabic word was what the man had been after all along. He just needed Kid to say, "yes," and it would prove that the Death Surgeon always won – he always got what he wanted because he was a taker. He was a sore-winner that gratified in having others admit defeat.

Blunt nails grazed the edge of Kid's underwear and a finger hooked to pull low at the garter.

"I'm waiting," the man drawled sensing that he was about to break.

Kid clenched his jaw. The finger kept pulling lower and lower, and Kid was about to give in when a loud bang ripped him from the doctor's well-built lure. Both men's heads turned towards the door as another bang hit the wood.

"Kid! Open the door!"

The daze that he had been trapped in was ripped away as the banging continued. Sensation seemed to flow back to his head as he became more aware of the drumming of his heart, blood pumping loudly in his ears, and the intense pain gnawing at different parts of his body. The stab wound on his lower back felt stretched and still raw, but the stitches hadn't opened.

Kid lifted his head slightly from the floor as they remained silent to the pounding.

"I know you're in there! Open up! I can see the light coming from under your door!"

It didn't take long for him to realize who it was screaming in the hallway. Kid didn't know whether to feel relieved that he had been stopped from succumbing to the sexual advances of the doctor, or if he should be worried that someone had come while he was dealing with a mass murderer in his apartment. Either way, the banging continued, and knowing the source of disturbance, Kid was sure that his annoying neighbor wouldn't go away.

He cast a glance at the doctor and managed to see a flash of annoyance cross the man's face. Eyes narrowed, Kid realized that he hadn't actually seen the expression before. At least, not towards him. The doctor looked like he was about to start tearing limbs and coloring the walls red. It was that manic look, he figured, that was the mask of the infamous city murderer.

After a minute or two, the Surgeon himself figured out that the person causing a racket outside wasn't going to leave. He turned his attention back to Kid, his face easing up a bit. The chill in his veins warmed, and the dark wrinkled brows softened. A smile lit up the man's face, but it was all teeth and biting.

"It seems that your friends always come in the nick of time to save you." The doctor leaned forward to place a messy kiss against Kid's mouth. A hand grabbed his face roughly as the man tilted his head upwards so that a feisty tongue could lick the inside of his cheeks and steal the flavor that was entirely his. Teeth bit and dragged along his bottom lip as the they pulled away, their breaths mingling with each other's as they inhaled for air.

The next thing Kid knew, there was a sharp pain as the blade pinning his palm to the floor was pulled out. He winced at the sudden movement, and was able to curl into a sitting position as the doctor pulled away from him to stand. His forehead touched his bent knees as he clutched to his bleeding hand. Blood poured like a cracked bottle of cherry wine through the cracks of his fingers and down his wrists. A good amount seeped against his thighs as he applied pressure to the wound, the cut on the flesh a good two inches.

In his peripheral, something white flew at him and the object landed lightly beside him on the floor. He turned his head to look at a bright silk cloth, then shot his head to the doctor. The man was flicking his wrist causing blood to fly from the silver blade towards the carpet. The knife was soaked so heavily that it still dripped healthily afterwards, but the Surgeon pulled out a square cloth from the inside of his jacket and wiped the excess blood off. The cloth looked exactly the same as the one thrown at him so Kid picked it up. He clutched it with his right hand, the white quickly staining as his blood ate at the silk.

"Tell your friend to leave," was all the doctor said as he stood regally in his spot waiting for Kid to do so. For encouragement, the man motioned with his hand that was holding the cloth towards the door. Underneath, Kid noticed that he was holding onto the gun as well.

So the doctor was holding both weapons. That certainly skewed the scale to who could boss around who.

Weighing his choices, Kid grit his teeth and hobbled to his feet as he thought of what shit excuse he should give for looking like someone splashed his pants with a freshly slaughtered baby animal. He walked towards the door, his back turned towards the doctor, and feeling vulnerable and unsafe for doing so.

Slowly, so it wouldn't hurt as much, Kid undid the locks on the door with his only available hand except for the small chain at the top. Some blood smeared on the knob as he turned it and pulled the door inwards just enough so that he could show his face. The slamming of a fist stopped when the person in the hall saw him, and the yelling ceased.

"Took you long enough," Bonnie huffed.

Her face twisted as she placed a sassy and well-manicured hand on her wide hips. Looking at his downstairs neighbor up and down, she seemed to be wearing her fancier clothes. Gone was the booty shorts she favored and the revealing tank that she paired it with. Instead, she had on a slim pair of thick black leggings and a white sleeveless dress shirt. A pair of black square heels adorned her feet so that a few inches was added to her height.

"What do you want?" he asked when he noticed that despite the make-over, she didn't lose the stupid green hat.

Bonnie didn't answer right away, her eyes falling over the conspicuous dark stain on his pants. Kid growled when she gawked for too long and asked again.

"What do you want, Bonnie?"

His rude tone seemed to snap her out of it, and her frozen expression burned back to annoyance again.

"What crawled up your ass?" She quipped. "I wanted to borrow some milk a while ago, but you keep not answering your phone."

"The hell? Go out and buy some then, freeloader. I don't have shit."

"Liar. I have someone over so I can't go out. Come on, just lend me some and I'll buy you a new carton before the end of this week."

"I told you, I don't have any."

"Selfish dick. Come on," she pushed against the door. "Let me in."

"Fuck off," Kid tried pushing her back, but both his arms were useless at the moment.

Still, he didn't want her to come in because there was a psycho killer in his living room and right now, Bonnie was going to get the both of them killed.

Being stronger than she looked, Bonnie managed to thrust her way through the space between the door. Her slim arm slipped through and undid the chain keeping the door from fully opening. With one big push, she stumbled her way into the living room as they cursed each other.

"Get the fuck out!" Kid grabbed what he could of her and managed a firm grip on her elbow, and pulled towards the hallway.

Bonnie smacked his hand away as she whirled to face him, but paused when she felt a wetness. Her eyes studied Kid for the first time, her eyes taking in the sight of the sling. Not being that close of friends and having different work schedules prevented them from even passing each other in the hall. Inevitably, that concluded to them not seeing each other in a month so the sight was news. To see the redhead injured wasn't supposed to be surprising because of Kid's line of work, but it was more than that. There was fresh blood dripping from Kid's clenched knuckles, and the stain from his pants was easily identifiable as blood as well.

The woman looked down to where his hand had smeared some of his blood on her skin, then she looked back up.

Overall, Kid looked disheveled, his shirt askew and spots of discoloration littering what she could see of his chest and cheek. There were a few scratches here and there, and damn, the traces of beer that had exploded against the wall wasn't helping his image.

Kid knew what Bonnie was looking at when she turned her head. Pieces of green glass were present right below the wet spot of trailing beer on the wall right next to the kitchen entrance. Although that really put the icing on the cake to make someone who just came in doubt his sanity, he was hoping that the general state of chaos that his apartment was in didn't make it scream that he needed help. Then again, his place was really dirty. Some of his belongings that fell from the cabinet were scattered on the ground from when he had reached for his gun, and a few clothes that had already been there since last week were scattered about. From where they were standing, a peek inside the kitchen was possible. Numerous takeout boxes from previous dinners had been left neglected on the small wooden dining table, and okay, it made the apartment look worse than it really was.

There was a small hint of concern on Bonnie's face, her eyes widening, as she turned back to Kid.

"The hell happened to your hand?" she asked.

He tightened his fist so that more blood oozed out. "I was trying to cook something and cut myself with a knife."

Bonnie's eyes darted back to the kitchen. _Take out boxes. Right._ Kid could've smacked himself for not coming up with a better lie.

"Threw everything out when I fucked up," he explained.

"Yeah? And what was that?"

"None of your business," he frowned. "Now get out of my apartment."

Bonnie gave him a look. It was that look that said, _I know you're bullshitting me._ There was a shift of something inside her head as she sneered, perhaps it was her opinion of him, but that was never really good to start with and Kid decided that who the hell really cared what she thought of him? As long as he could get her to leave, he can handle being seen as a slob.

"Who let you live by yourself?" she asked bluntly. "You should've never moved out of your friend's apartment."

"The fuck do you know?"

"For one, you should turn on the actual lights, caveman. I can barely see anything with your shitty lamp. You get charged for electricity so use it." Bonnie stalked over to flip the switch and the room became engulfed in a bright white light.

The sudden exposure put everything that was messy in the apartment into blatant display, and he had to admit it himself, forgetting to clean at least every two weeks was a bad idea.

Bonnie cringed. Her eyes scanned the living room and frowned when she saw the fresh stain of blood on the carpet where Kid had his hand pinned. She walked over curiously and dug her foot beside the soiled spot. Luckily, the color of the carpet was really dark so it was hard to tell what had been spilled. Bonnie didn't want to ask. She just gave him another disgusted look and headed to the kitchen.

"Hey!" Kid chased after her. "I thought I told you to leave!"

"I will. Just after I get what I came here for."

She entered the kitchen and he was half expecting for the surgeon to pop out from behind the wall and stab her. When he hustled in after her, he was extremely wary when nothing happened and all he saw was his dirty takeout boxes. Bonnie currently had half her body digging into his fridge, one hand clutching the handle to keep the door open, and she wasn't screaming. Kid glanced around trying desperately to find where the doctor was hiding, but he couldn't find anything that was out of place.

"Ha! Told you that you were a shit ass liar!" Bonnie pulled out from his fridge triumphantly with a tall white carton of milk. A haughty grin was plastered on her face and was about to gloat when she saw him acting fidgety. "What the hell's wrong with you?" she asked making him jump. "You hiding someone?"

"What?"

Her patronizing glare morphed into a leer. His mouth opened to protest, but she cut him off.

"Whatever. Not like I care," she nudged the fridge door shut. "Just make sure to take care of yourself and wear protection. I don't want the person I rely on to mooch off of have something happen to them."

Kid stood still closing his mouth and not knowing what to say. Bonnie walked by him and patted his cheek playfully.

"Bye, kiddo. I'll make sure to get the same brand and stop by Saturday," she jiggled the carton of milk at his face before exiting his apartment.

His eyes trailed after her back just as the door closed, and then there was silence. Kid's eyes shifted around looking for any signs of the doctor or for him to come popping out of nowhere, and his eyes landed in the bedroom. There, behind the half ajar door, was the only place the man could have gone to. He didn't think the surgeon would fancy hiding in his restroom so he ruled it out. He slowly made his way over. As a precaution, he took out a knife from his kitchen drawer before he went to investigate.

Slowly pushing the door open, he peered inside the small crack of the door before opening it all the way and stepping in.

The pseudo purple glow of the city filtered through his window and into his dark room. His bed, which was situated to the left most side, was covered in strewn sheets just like he had left it this morning. Other than his bed, the room was sparse of any other furniture since he only often came here to sleep. It was also actually cleaner than all the other parts of his apartment due to how infrequently that happened. Most days, he slept at the station or was too tired to make it to the bedroom. The couch was more his bed than his actual one.

Kid looked to his closet with the sliding door at the opposite wall from where he was standing. He stomped over and slid it open, but found everything untouched. There was his spare uniform hanging inside with several jackets and pants. Miscellaneous duffel bags and a small suitcase filled the rest of the space at the bottom and top shelf.

Nothing. There were absolutely no traces of the doctor in his room. Kid turned to his open window, the curtains softly billowing with the evening wind. The view of the train station and tall, glass buildings stood industrially nearby. The orbs of moving light zoomed by as cars filled the streets. Clenching his teeth, he stomped over to shut his window closed and headed to check the rest of his apartment. After a few unnerving minutes, he was back to standing in the middle of his living room next to the small blood stain on the carpet. His finger gripped the handle of the kitchen knife.

The realization that he had let the Death Surgeon escape once again made him bubble up in anger. He padded to the kitchen and threw the knife in the sink making it clatter. His body mechanically turned to his fridge as he picked out another cold bottle of beer just so he could go back to doing what he had been before a criminal and his annoying neighbor disturbed him. Calling the station passed his mind briefly, but he knew that a search for the Surgeon would be futile. The man was long gone by now.

Kid returned to the living room, turned off the lights, and plopped on his couch as he pressed the power button of his remote. The moving images of a football game played on the screen. Somewhere through the game, someone made a red flag, but Kid wasn't paying attention. His mind was filled with the confused musings of how fucked up this night was.

Wait. Kid's eyebrows shot up.

Did this mean that the doctor was into him?


End file.
